


Summer of Love

by MizJoely



Series: Sherlolly AU Prompts [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 60s AU, F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4142949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>o0katiekins0o said: YAY! Thanks for AU drabble offer. This is the one I want! 'what do you mean i didnt try to pick-pocket you your butt is just amazing' au</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [o0katiekins0o](https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0katiekins0o/gifts).



She’d never been caught before, not once, yet here she now stood, her wrist firmly in the grasp of the man who’s pocket she’d been trying to pick. The tall, rather fit youngish man – not much older than she was, which meant no more than mid-twenties – and, oh, hello! The rather good-looking man. Well, good-looking aside from the scowl on his lips (Cupid’s bow, that was the term, right?) and the angrily-narrowed (blue-green and hypnotic) eyes. “Sloppy,” he snapped out, not letting go of her hand in spite of her automatic attempts to tug it free. “What idiot taught you how to pickpocket?”

She gave him her most wide-eyed, innocent look, pouting a bit as she protested, “I wasn’t trying to pick your pocket! You’re daft, lemme go!”

“Oh? So your hand just happened to graze my ass? Your fingers just happened to slip into my jeans pocket?” came the sarcastic response – but, Molly noted, with a bit of a grin on the lips.

She changed her approach immediately, softening her gaze and no longer fighting his hold. “I was just…you’ve got a lovely ass,” she said frankly, and lord, it wasn’t a lie. He was more than ‘rather’ fit, now that she was looking at him as a man and not as a potential mark! Long and lean, his tall form was topped with a mop of dark curls that gave him a Byronic look that went well with his pale complexion. And, oh! Those cheekbones! Absolutely to die for.

She wondered what he thought of her, with her petite (all right, short) frame and long brown hair worn loose over her shoulders; did he think the flowers she’d entwined in those locks ridiculous? He certainly didn’t look as if he was here for the open-air festival, even though he wore a pair of tight jeans and a Rolling Stones t-shirt; no, there was an alertness about him that she should have noticed before trying to lift his wallet. He was probably an undercover copper on the alert for drug dealers (or pickpockets), just her luck!

While she tried to deduce who he was and why he was here, in the well-trampled field where the festival had been set up, it appeared he was busy doing the same. “Medical student, being raised by one parent, the other one most likely dead – and most likely your, hmm, father, yes.” He nodded as she gasped and stared up at him, suddenly less concerned about him letting her go – at least he’d lowered her wrist so she was no longer in danger of being lifted off her feet – and more concerned with exactly how he knew so much about her! “Before you ask, no, I’m not a mind reader, just a student of, let’s call it humanity, shall we?”

His accent was posh, his voice a deep baritone that set up a lovely tingle in her body; without meaning to, she found herself swaying forward and resting her free hand on his chest. “Who are you?” she breathed, tilting her head to maintain eye contact.

His eyes crinkled in an unexpected grin. “I’ll trade you a name for a name,” he said. “Yours is…?”

“Molly,” she said before she could stop herself. She did, however, hold back her last name; no sense in digging herself in any deeper than she already had! Her mother would be furious if she were arrested; she would never forgive Molly for dragging the good name of Hooper through the mud, even if it was in a good cause. Her father’s illness and death had drained the family’s finances, and in desperation Molly had turned to a life of petty crime to help her mother make ends meet.

“Sherlock,” the stranger replied, finally letting go of her hand – only to twine her fingers between his. “Pleasure to meet you. Now. Let’s see if we can find a less illegal way for you to make some cash to bring home to your family, shall we? Fancy helping me locate a pair of runaways and getting them back home? I’ll split the fee…hmm, sixty-forty seems fair.”

He brought his free hand, using one finger to tip her jaw so that her mouth closed, when she hadn’t even realized she was gaping at him. “Um, o-okay,” she stammered, allowing him to draw her along when he started weaving his way through the crowd.

And that was how Molly Hooper found herself partnered with Sherlock Holmes, world’s first – and only – consulting detective during the summer of ’69, while his usual partner was off on a sex holiday with his new wife. A year later, Sherlock and Molly would be off on a sex holiday of their own, all thanks to an unpicked pocket…and a truly lovely bum.


End file.
